Dissonance
by Not Enough Answers
Summary: Escapism. We all do it. Whether it's through books, movies, or games, at some point everyone has wanted to lose themselves in another world so they can forget about their own. But what if the alternate world was far worse than the one you lived in? I was about to learn that the hard way. John Blake/OC
1. The Pin

**The idea for this came to me a couple of days ago and just wouldn't go away, even though I have numerous other stories I should be working on. But I couldn't resist writing this.**

**The basic premise is "A girl from our world gets transported into Gotham", and I know it's a very cliched, cheesy idea that has already been attempted numerous times with disastrous results. This will eventually become a romance, which obviously increases the potential for disaster. But I'm going to try to make it as original as possible, and everything will be explained at some point. **

**In the rare case I haven't scared you off yet, it will be John Blake/OC, but will start off during the period between BB and TDK. I roughly estimated John as being twenty-seven during TDKR. If eight years have passed between TDK and TDKR, and there is a year between BB and TDK, he'll be around eighteen. I'll try to be as canon as possible, but this **_**is**_** fanfiction, after all. Not everything is going to happen exactly the way it did in the movies.**

**Now, if you're **_**still**_** around and interested, I thank you, and please let me know whether I should continue this or not. **

**DISCLAIMER: Maybe if I close my eyes and wish really hard, it will come true-nope, still don't own anything.**

* * *

**"**_**Closing your eyes isn't going to change anything. Nothing's going to disappear just because you can't see what's going on. In fact, things will even be worse the next time you open your eyes. That's the kind of world we live in. Keep your eyes wide open. Only a coward closes his eyes. Closing your eyes and plugging up your ears won't make time stand still." **_

–_**Haruki Murakami, "Kafka on the Shore"**_

* * *

_Escapism. We all do it. Whether it's through books, movies, or games, at some point everyone has wanted to lose themselves in another world so they can forget about their own._

_But what if the alternate world was far worse than the one you lived in? I was about to learn that the hard way._

_I knew I wasn't dreaming or hallucinating. Every facet of this new world was just as substantial as the one I had come from. The city was real. The people were real._

He _was most certainly real._

_So what of the place I had left behind? Was _I _the one who wasn't real? _

_In the world I knew, he didn't exist. And that was something I couldn't live with. I would have given up both worlds if it meant having him._

_But with the way things had turned out, I resigned myself to the fact that, in the end, I would have nothing._

* * *

It was, I supposed, all Noah's fault. If he hadn't bought that movie and then dragged me back to the store to return it, I would be much happier, living a blessedly normal life and unaware of how screwed up the world really was.

But then again, the world would still be screwed up even if I _hadn't _experienced it firsthand, so it was a moot point. Fate liked tormenting me, it seemed.

Silverdale, New Hampshire, the town I had grown up in, was home to barely a thousand residents and seemed the least likely town to experience strange occurrences, which made the whole ordeal even more peculiar than it already was. It wasn't a place like Salem or the Bermuda Triangle, where incidents were easily shrugged off. Then again, the myth did go that the town was built on an ancient burial ground, so perhaps that did have something to do with it.

Of course, I didn't take any of these factors into account until much later. But by then it was too late.

I was your ordinary, run-of-the-mill eighteen-year-old, ready to pack up my bags and head to college the next town over. It was nothing fancy; I was planning on dabbling around and seeing what interested me most. I had no special talents; no particular subjects I excelled at. I was average at almost everything, except for math, where I still counted on my fingers for the simplest problems. At least college would give me an opportunity to live away from home for once, even if I wasn't going very far. The farthest I had ever traveled was Boston.

At any rate, my parents would be glad to have me gone. They were both lawyers, spending most of their time at the town hall rather than at home. They usually left before I woke up and came home well past midnight.

Not that it really mattered anyway. When I was twelve years old, I'd overheard my father telling a friend that I'd been conceived after he and Mom had drunk too much wine at a party one night, and that they hadn't really wanted children after all. After that disturbing revelation, I'd stopped eavesdropping.

That's not saying they were bad parents. They'd always been there when I needed them. Since we lived in such a small town, word traveled fast. Everyone would know within an hour if I was truly in trouble.

Since my parents were away for most of the day, they'd shipped me off to my aunt and uncle's ever since I was a toddler. Being an only child, I'd bonded quickly with my cousin, Noah, who was six months older than me. We were both in similar situations—his parents were often busy and he had a much older brother who couldn't be bothered with him.

Noah was my best friend and the brother I'd never had. We trusted each other with almost everything, despite the fact we didn't see eye-to-eye on many things. But we always made up in the end—we had to, since we saw each other so often.

Take, for example, his near-obsession with Batman. He'd plastered his wall with posters, and I could probably recite half the characters' names in my sleep. I didn't really see the pull, but he loved the franchise and so I had to put up with it.

Since I had lost a bet several months ago, he was forcing me to watch the new movie. I showed up at Noah's house reluctantly, resigning myself to two hours of boredom. But instead of dragging me into the living room, he stomped out of the house, DVD case in hand. "Assholes sold me a case with nothing in it," he growled.

I couldn't stop myself from grinning. "Does this mean we don't have to watch it?"

"No, it means you're coming with me to the store," he replied, glaring at the case as if it had personally insulted him.

Smirking, I followed him down the street to the corner store. "Are you sure you don't want to get a refund and exchange it for a more interesting movie?" I asked.

He wasn't amused. "Not going to happen, Theresa."

But when we got inside, there was nobody around. Noah knocked on the door that led to the storage room, but there was still no answer. He finally opened it a crack. "Hello?" But when he was met with silence, he was forced to conclude that the entire store was deserted.

I tried to hide my relief. "Let's come back another time."

"Let's stop being so annoying," he retorted, disappearing inside the storage room. I hovered outside the door hesitantly. Noah beckoned me inside and I dutifully followed him. He was holding up an ancient-looking, yellowed envelope. "I wonder what this is," he said excitedly. The front was unmarked.

"Noah!" I exclaimed. "It's not ours."

"So?" he asked. "It doesn't look like anyone's ever _going _to open it." Before I could stop him, he tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. Despite myself, I read over his shoulder:

_N & T,_

_I have a feeling you may need this._

_-BW_

"Who's BW?" I asked.

"N and T…that's us!" Noah exclaimed.

I shook my head, although the similarity was uncanny. "There are tons of people named that—maybe it's for the employees—"

But he wasn't listening to me anymore. He shook out a small bulge in the envelope—as soon as the small silver object touched his hand, he vanished.

Just like that.

My mouth fell open and I lunged at the spot where he disappeared, but found only empty air. "Noah!" I screamed, running back into the main store. But there was still no one around, and the street outside was deserted.

This was impossible. Unless teleportation had been magically invented in the past ten seconds, he had simply disappeared into thin air.

I pinched myself hard to make sure I wasn't dreaming, but the pain was as real as anything. Panicking, I ran back into the store. Noah was still nowhere to be found. The envelope and letter lay on the floor, abandoned, but next to them was a tiny silver object, barely the size of my nail. It seemed to be a pin in the shape of a bat.

The second my skin came into contact with it, there was a blindingly bright white flash, as if lightning had suddenly struck the room, and my eyes snapped shut of their own accord.

When I opened them again, feeling a sudden pounding headache, I was in a completely different place.


	2. Gotham City

**Since I got a positive response, I decided to continue this! Really, I'm surprised at how many people have alerted and reviewed. Thank you so much!**

* * *

I was no longer standing in a crowded storage room—I was in a narrow, shadowy alleyway with garbage bags strewn across the ground. At first, everything was pitch black—it had somehow turned into nighttime—and my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, discerning vague shapes in the distance.

Before I could fully process what had happened, something grabbed my arm. "Thank God you're here too," Noah said. "Was it the pin?"

I nodded as I slowly spun in a circle, taking in the new surroundings. "I must be dreaming. There's no other way around it."

"Then I'm in your dream," Noah said sourly. "And believe me, it's the _last _place I want to be."

"How do I know you're not just saying that?"

"You'll have to trust me."

I crossed my arms. "Noah—two minutes ago, it was broad daylight and I was in the corner store! Does this look like a store to you? Does this look like _Silverdale _to you?"

"Geez, calm down," he muttered. "There's got to be a way around this."

I gave the area a quick once-over. We both appeared to be in one piece—the only thing missing was the small bat pin.

"Theresa…" Noah began slowly. "You don't think it could have…transported us here, could it?"

I rolled my eyes. "It's not a sci-fi movie."

"Then how did we get here?"

"A dream?" I ventured.

He snorted. "A very detailed dream."

"They feel real when you're in them," I said in a small voice, but my heart contracted in a wave of real fear.

Noah kicked one of the garbage bags toward me, and the air instantly filled with a putrid scent. "As real as that?"

I shuddered and took a step backwards, feeling like I was going to gag. The smell was overpowering.

"Let's go see what's at the other end," he called, jogging to the front of the alleyway. I followed him more cautiously. When he got to the entrance, he suddenly stopped and I nearly ran right into him.

We were standing in the middle of the largest city I had ever seen. A dizzying maze of skyscrapers loomed over us, blocking the starlight I had grown so accustomed to from living in a small town my entire life. Lights shone from thousands of windows and there were noises coming at us from all directions—shouts, car horns blaring, tires screeching. I felt as if I was in a larger-than-life video game.

"Wow," Noah said, his voice hushed as he took in the sight. Cars whizzed by us and one sprayed a barrage of water onto the sidewalk. I leapt out of its way, getting my foot stuck on one of the pieces of gum that littered the concrete in the process.

After I had gotten over the initial shock, the sight began to turn sour. How had we gotten to this alien world?

"Do you think this is New York?" my cousin asked, aimlessly kicking an empty beer can.

I shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

While he continued to marvel at the breathtaking sight, I scanned the street for any sign of life. Aside from the cars, it appeared to be deserted.

I took a step forward onto the street, nearly tripping over a manhole. I automatically glanced down at it, and the light from the streetlamps above cast a shadow on the letters engraved on the rusted metal: _Gotham._

"Noah," I called in a wavering voice.

"What is it?" He appeared beside me and I could only wordlessly point at the name, wondering if someone was playing a trick on us.

He looked up and we shared a look of true horror. "I want out of this dream," I said shakily. "It's too real."

"Theresa, this _isn't a dream_," he snapped. "You couldn't have suddenly fallen asleep in the store. It's that—" A look of realization dawned upon his face. "It was that damned pin! It was in the shape of a bat—and we're in Gotham…" he trailed off, eyes still fixed on mine.

A cold chill began to creep up my spine. "But those kinds of things only happen in the movies…"

"The note—it said _I have a feeling you may need this. _I'm sure it was addressed to us. The initials were BW. Who in Gotham has those initials?" he asked urgently. His expression turned deliberating, as if he was trying to reconcile reality with logic.

"That's ridiculous," I said. "What could Bruce Wayne—"

"Shut up," he hissed, shaking my shoulder. "Anyone could hear you!"

"Who cares if they hear me?" I challenged. "There's no way this could be real."

Noah's head suddenly snapped up and he clapped a hand over my mouth. "Did you hear that?" he demanded.

I was about to shake my head and pry his hand away, but a faint noise reached my ears: a low _whoosh_, sounding like a piece of cloth was being fluttered.

Another shadow moved on the sidewalk, casting its light over the street, and we looked up to see a tall figure watching us from the rooftop of the building across the street. I couldn't see it clearly, but it most definitely was wearing a cape, and two pointed ears were visible against the light.

"Run!" I stupidly yelled, and we bolted, sprinting down the streets and turning corners at random. My eyes were wide with terror and dread.

When we finally slowed down, breathing heavily, I looked over at Noah. "That…was Batman," he wheezed.

"It couldn't have been, because Batman doesn't exist," I replied firmly.

"Maybe not in our world. But what if we were somehow transported to a different world?" he asked. "We learned about them in physics, remember? Parallel universes. A lot of scientists believe they exist, and if someone was able to create a wormhole in an ordinary object—"

"English, please," I interjected. "S—say this is true. How would it get into our world, anyway?"

Noah shook his head. "I have no idea."

For the first time, I'd noticed we'd left the city behind. We now seemed to be in a slummish, poverty-stricken area. The buildings were decaying and all I could see were rows upon rows of nondescript apartment complexes. "New York doesn't have these kinds of neighborhoods," I mused aloud. "At least, not of this scale."

"The Narrows," answered Noah. "If this is really Gotham, this isn't a place where we want to hang out for too long—"

"Hey!" a distant voice called, and I caught sight of a silhouette rapidly advancing toward us. "What are you doing here?"

"You were right," I mumbled, and Noah and I were off again, running as fast as we could. But the stranger evidently knew the area better than we did, and just as we rounded a corner someone leaped out in front of us. We were trapped.

"Who are you?" the figure asked, and as it neared us I realized it was a boy our age, wearing a tattered pair of jeans and a dark shirt. His sneakers looked scuffed and worn out, his hair long and tousled. There was a suspicious scowl on his face.

"We are very lost right now," I said, surreptitiously taking a step behind Noah.

"Strangers don't come here," he replied hotly. "Especially not people like you."

"Is this the Narrows?" Noah asked.

The stranger looked incredulous. "What does it _look _like?" he snapped back.

"I don't know, since you haven't given us a chance to see it yet," I snarled, temper flaring up as it always did when I was in a stressful situation.

The boy glared at me and Noah shot me a warning look. "Calm down," he said. I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster; he was always the argumentative one. "We really need your help. Our names are Noah and Theresa Fleming—"

"Great job keeping us unidentifiable," I muttered.

"—And we have no idea where we are or what we're doing."

Some of the hostility disappeared from the boy's eyes, but he was still on guard. "You got amnesia or something?"

"Noah, how do we know we can trust him?" I asked, making no effort to hide my displeasure. In horror movies, this was always the part where someone got killed for mistakenly trusting another.

"He's our only hope, Theresa," he whispered back. "So, can you help us?"

"Yes," the boy said grudgingly. "Just try not to look lost."

"What's your name?" I asked. "Since you already know ours."

He looked over at me with an irritated expression, seeming to bite back a sarcastic retort before answering. "John Blake."


	3. John Blake

Noah and I blindly followed John Blake through the dim, narrow streets, both hoping that it wasn't a trap. We had no other choice. Perhaps he knew something about our situation and could help us. We didn't speak as we stayed close together, keeping our eyes on the boy. He would glance back every so often to make sure we were still there.

At last, he stopped in front of an rundown, crumbling house that looked at least a hundred years old. It was on a dead end road, and the house across the street it looked as though it had been someone's inspiration for a horror novel. There was no moon or stars here—only an inky, dark sky that blotted out every source of light. I couldn't even see the lights of the city reflected in the sky.

John pushed open the front door and after a short hesitation, Noah and I trailed after him. Once we were inside, he flipped a switch and an ancient, dusty lightbulb dimly flickered on over our heads. The hallway was barely wide enough for two people, feeling stuffy and claustrophobic.

"Thank you for helping us," Noah said, finally breaking the silence.

"You would have gotten eaten alive out there," replied John. He looked closely between the two of us. "Are you siblings?"

"Cousins," I answered. "Our fathers are brothers."

"So what were you in the Narrows for?" he started to ask, but was interrupted by a girl's voice calling, "John, are you back already?"

"Yes," he called back. One of the doors on the landing opened and a girl appeared, her eyes widening when she saw us. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Iz, calm down," John said smoothly. "They're lost."

"So you bring them back _here_?" she demanded, the trace of an accent slipping through her voice. "In the middle of the night?"

"I had no other place to bring them," John told her. "Look at their faces. They're terrified."

The girl glared at us, crossing her arms. She would have been beautiful if she didn't look so angry, with long, thick dark hair and large brown eyes. "You think your judgment is better than everyone else's," she accused John. "If it had been one of _us _bringing them back here, you would have thrown them out."

"We're lost, I promise," Noah interjected. "We don't have any family here."

"So you're runaways?" the girl asked.

"Sort of," Noah said sheepishly.

Her expression softened. "What are your names?"

"I'm Noah and this is my cousin, Theresa," he introduced us. "We're both eighteen."

"I'm Isabel," she offered. "I just turned nineteen."

"What's all the commotion about?" a third voice said, and a red-haired, gangly boy appeared behind Isabel. He had to be at least a foot taller than everyone else—absolutely dwarfing me, since I was only five foot two—and wore poorly repaired glasses that looked as though they had been broken numerous times. His skin was painted with freckles and he appeared to have never seen the sun. Like Isabel, he looked shocked when he saw us, although not suspicious.

"I think we'd better go downstairs so they only have to explain once," John suggested. He turned back and motioned for us to follow him. After a nervous glance at Isabel and the other boy, I trailed after him down a short set of stairs into a basement with several old couches pushed against the walls. A pillow and blanket adorned the longest of them. There was a small gray box which I guessed was a television in the corner. Bags of chips and soda cans were scattered everywhere. Despite the mess, however, the setup managed to have a cozy air to it.

A small boy was sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions, petting a stuffed dog. "You should be asleep, buddy," John chastised, easily swooping up the little boy into his arms. "Go to bed."

He shook his head. "I'm not tired."

"Oh, come on," Isabel said as John handed her the child. They looked very much alike, sharing the same olive complexion and dark eyes. "He can go to bed after this."

I felt as if I was being judged as the strangers gathered around us. "We're Noah and Theresa," my cousin declared for what felt like the hundredth time. "This might sound weird, but we're not from Gotham…we've only been here half an hour."

"Did you take a wrong turn?" John asked.

"No," I piped up. "Back home, it was daytime and after we found a pin, we were suddenly transported here. Gotham doesn't even _exist _where we come from—"

The three other teenagers shared a glance and simultaneously broke out into laughter. "Don't worry, you don't have to tell us the real story," Isabel said reassuringly. "We understand."

"It's the truth," I began, but they weren't listening to me.

Noah shot me a glare. "Don't tell them," he whispered. "It might be a mistake. Let's see if we can trust them before we do anything."

I ground my teeth together in frustration. Hadn't the whole _point _of following John been to see if he could help us?

"I guess we should explain a bit about ourselves," Isabel continued. "You already know John, I'm Isabel, this is my little brother, Carlos—he's three—" the little boy waved frantically at us, "and Donald." The ridiculously tall boy gave a small smile.

"Are you runaways too?" Noah asked.

"Isabel is," John answered this time. "Donald and I aren't. We came from the boys' home a few streets over—it's called St. Swithin's. You have to leave when you turn sixteen, but you're given a house and some start-up money so you're not left completely on your own. We're funded by the Wayne Foundation, and they gave us this place. Donald and I have been living here for two years. A couple of months ago we found Isabel and Carlos on the street and offered to let them stay here."

"We came to Gotham from Mexico City," Isabel explained. "Our parents were killed in a gang fight, and our aunt who lives here is our only other family. But when we arrived here, she refused to take us in and we had nowhere else to go. I can't thank John and Donald enough for what they've done for us."

"Are you orphans as well?" Donald asked, speaking for the first time. His huge frame concealed a surprisingly high-pitched voice.

"Yes," Noah said before I could protest. "We'd rather not talk about it, if that's all right."

The orphans all nodded in understanding, and I felt the slow burn of guilt beginning to churn away in my stomach.

"I suppose we have room for two more people," John mused. "We only have two bedrooms…Donald sleeps down here because this couch is the only piece of furniture long enough for him…Isabel and Carlos share the other bedroom…"

"I'll sleep here," Noah offered, flopping down onto the other couch. "It really doesn't matter to me."

"All right," John said. "Then I can make do on the living room couch and Theresa can have my room."

I shook my head. "I'll be fine anywhere too. I don't need a bed—"

But he wouldn't take no for an answer. "You look like you could use some sleep."

While I unsuccessfully protested, Isabel took Carlos to bed. I cast a frightened glance at Noah, who patted my shoulder comfortingly. "We'll figure all of this out tomorrow," he answered, though his tone was not confident in the least.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush fading or my body was trying to keep in sync with Gotham time, but I found I was exhausted as well. John led me up another flight of wooden stairs to a cramped room with a grimy window and a narrow bed pushed up against the wall. "It's not much, but hopefully it's better than the street," he said.

"Thank you," I replied fervently. "Also…I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier."

He grinned. "It's fine. You were scared. Besides, I can't say my temper has never gotten the better of me. Actually, that's the understatement of the century."

Feeling relieved, I bid him goodnight and slipped into the bed, listening to the distant roar of traffic and the occasional shout from outside. I was wide awake now, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

After what felt like hours of agonizing and worrying, I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, consoling myself with the fact that, whatever had happened, at least we were safe for the moment.


End file.
